


the only one you want

by Areiton



Series: Steter Week 2018 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Biting, Established Relationship, Fluff, Good Peter Hale, Knotting, M/M, Mates, POV Second Person, POV Stiles, Sex, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 03:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: When his lips skim your skin like you’re made of spun sugar, when his teeth scrape up your spine and you arch into the sharp caress--and you want to ask.





	the only one you want

**Author's Note:**

> DAY TWO! since almost every Stiles I write is magical of some sort, I went with mating bite here. Its all fluff and sweetness. Enjoy, loves!

You want to ask, sometimes. 

When his lips skim your skin like you’re made of spun sugar, when his teeth scrape up your spine and you arch into the sharp caress--and you want to ask. 

 

~*~

 

You told him no, the first time he asked, an offer the wrong side of creepy in a parking garage you weren’t sure you’d leave alive, and even then you thought it was strange. 

Even then, you saw how he treated you. 

Even then, you knew he saw you as different, as special, and  _ then-- _ that terrified you. 

Time changed that. Time, and Peter, his constant presence in your life, the way he sees everything, even the things your dad and Scott miss--Peter sees them, and he cares for you.

It was that, the gentle caring, that drew you into him. 

It was the way he brought you coffee and food, the way he sat silently with you while you researched, and pushed you into bed when you were dizzy with exhaustion, the way he pulled you from your bedroom and sat in dark theatres with you, took you to magic shops and bookstores and quiet coffee shops and loud clubs. 

Scott thought--thinks, if you’re honest--that Peter was doing it on purpose, was seducing you with his quiet, thoughtful gifts. 

But you  _ know _ Peter, you know how he seduces, and what he did with you--it was different. Sweet and vulnerable in a way Peter never is. And it did seduce you. 

The first time you kissed him, he stared at you, his eyes wide and shocked, and his mouth slack, before he surged back into your space, and kissed you, desperate little noises in his throat, tearing at your self control. 

The first time  you pulled him into your bed, he trembled, and hid his face in your throat as he fucked you, and whined when you pet his hair and came with his name on your lips.

You knew then, whatever this is, between you and Peter, he means it. It’s serious, and  _ matters _ , and you think maybe everything else is window dressing. 

 

~*~

 

You’ve been with him for two years, when he kills a rogue alpha determined to make you his emissary, and for about five seconds, you worry. 

Peter was never a good alpha, was too driven by ego and power and revenge to be a good alpha. But he was never an alpha you could  _ gauge _ either. 

He was too driven by ego and power and revenge to judge. 

But this Peter--a Peter who is softer, warmer,  _ happier _ , one who loves you and the life you’ve built together, who has his architecture firm back and his demons almost laid to rest--this Peter is a good alpha. He is content to be small, brings Cora and Derek into his pack and offers Isaac a place when he comes back to the states with Chris Argent. 

You stand as his second, and you wonder sometimes if he’ll ask you, to take the bite. 

You wonder what you would say, if he did. 

But he never does.

 

~*~

 

You want it most when he’s fucking you. 

When he’s pushed you into the mess of blankets and pillows on your bed and licked you open, until you’re screaming your frustration and want into the pillows and he’s stroking you, a light teasing thing, before he fucks into you with one hard thrust, and you moan and his weight holds you down, holds you still and safe, and still you want more, want to bare your neck for him and beg him to bite. 

You don’t. 

You know what it means, and when that urge wells up in you, you drag him  into a messy kiss to still the words you want so badly to say, and he licks into your mouth and fucks into your body and claims you in every way you will allow, and if you want more, that’s no one’s business but your own. 

 

~*~

 

Peter knows. 

Maybe it’s because Peter always knows, with you--or maybe it’s only the years you’ve spent together, something as mundane as normality. 

But he knows, and he watches you, curiously, but never pushing. 

 

~*~

 

You’re leaving your father’s house, when you ask. 

It’s a normal night, a quiet dinner and good conversation, cuddling into your father’s side and letting Peter play with your feet while they watched baseball and bickered and when they thought you were sleeping, talking about you, voices pitched low and warm with the steady grounding love you built your life on. You listen to your father talking about your mother, and you fall asleep there, your favorite place to sleep. 

It’s after that, when you’re sleepy and staring out the window as Peter drives you home that you ask, “Why have you never asked again?” 

Peter knows. He doesn’t even pretend to misunderstand, merely tightens his grip on your fingers and says, “Because when and if you want it, you’ll ask for it.” He looks at you and his eyes are bright and intent and flecked with red. “And when you ask, there will be no greater honor in my life than to make you mine.” 

 

~*~

 

Bites are different. Some bites kill. Some change. And some--some are ceremonial, bind a wolf to the pack. 

But there is another, and it’s that bite you want the most. 

 

~*~

 

“Peter?” 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

You twist your hands together and for a heartbeat, you wonder if this is smart. 

Maybe he doesn’t want this. 

But he’s watching you, warm love in his gaze, patient and steady and yours, and you want this. 

You want everything with him. 

“What if I asked for the mating bite?” 

His gaze flares red, and his fangs drop, and you squeak as he presses you into the wall, his body a rough cage and his hands gentle. Coffee fills the air from where his mug has shattered, but it’s distant, because he’s nosing at your throat, dragging his fangs over your skin and his voice rumbles against your shoulder, when he asks, “Are you asking?” 

You breathe out, and in, and “Yes.” 

 

~*~

 

He works you open for hours. Or maybe it only feels like hours, because you’ve lost track of time, and orgasms, and everything but the steady press of his fingers, the sweep of his tongue and caress of his lips. 

You only know  _ him _ and his exquisite torture, and the way he laughs when you beg. 

You’re sobbing, when he fills you, and his groan of satisfaction is the most beautiful noise you’ve ever heard, and you shift, pushing up into his thrusts. 

He fucks you until you come, a dry orgasm that wrenches from you so suddenly it makes you scream, and then fucks you some more, until you’re panting and sobbing, and you grip his hair and drag him down, press him to your throat, and snarl. “Do it,” you demand. “Do it, make me yours.” 

He groans but you feel the slick sharp press of teeth and then a blinding white pain that melts into the sharpest pleasure you’ve ever felt. He groans as your blood floods his mouth and some _ thing _ bright and beautiful snaps into place in your mind, and you can  _ feel _ it, the intoxicating pleasure, the overwhelming possessive jealousy and the love. Holy fuck, the  _ love _ so full and deep and consuming it overwhelms everything else. 

You can feel it all, the way that Peter loves you and you shudder under the onslaught and wonder what he’s feeling, and then--

You scream as he thrusts once more and his roar drowns it out, as his knot swells, locks him in you, and you come, screaming and clinging as he shakes through an endless orgasm. 

And you can feel it all, feel the awe and the joy and the love and the desperate need to be everything you could ever want. 

And you think that maybe now he knows--he always has been.

 

~*~

 

After, you kiss him, and let him clean you up, and curl into him. He falls asleep holding you, radiating contentment and you let your fingers brush the bite on your throat, the only one you ever asked for. 

The one that claims him, as much as it claims you. 

You smile, smugly satisfied, and fall asleep sprawled on your mate’s chest. The last thing you wonder, before dreams claim you, is if Peter will let you bite him.  

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://areiton.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
